Brother Table and the Satisfied Customer
by Sydiemath
Summary: A cleric Monk of Antana investigates the death of a courtier.  Work in progress; will aim to add one or two chapters per week, but no promises
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: The inspiration for the Brother Table stories was my boredom while playing a cleric. It seemed likely that a cleric might seek out intellectually stimulating hobbies such as criminology as a way to pass the time. Brother Table is my own creation. Most other character names were borrowed from Ancient Anguish NPC's and player characters. Events described are fictitious and probably bear no resemblance to the actions of actual NPC's or player characters. Probably.  
_

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**Brother Table and the Satisfied Customer**

Chapter One

Brother Table was nothing special to look at, but it nver bothered him much. He knew where The Body Shop was, of course, but he couldn't even remember the last time he had passed that way. It must have been a day much like today, when he would travel south to town to meet a friend there and comfort them during the process of improving their outward appearance. He was looking forward to an afternoon in Tantallon, even if it meant spending most of that time with Blakeney. Blakeney was the sort of friend one didn't advertise. Table was surprised when the courtier asked him to come along to The Body Shop. Surely Blakeney had been there on his own numerous times, Table mused as he straightened his robe and stepped out through the waterfall.

It was a warm, still, cloudy day, as days often were in Waterhaze. Table was grateful for the warmth. His robe was nearly dry by the time he made it to The Gold Ducat, where he settled by the fire downstairs and sipped a special of the house. He had finished a second and was beginning to get a little hungry when it occured to him that Blakeney was rather late, so he walked over to The Body Shop on the off-chance Blakeney was waiting for him there instead. The smell of fish and rotting seaweed was stifling along the harbour. Table hurried south along the access road to sooner escape it.

There was a strange absence of workers in The Body Shop, and a stranger absence of clients. Only one table was occupied. Brother Table caught a glimpse of a familiar ruffle of lace and approached the table, calling out to Blakeney to ask why he hadn't waited for him. There was no answer. The only sound in the room was the echoing of a serene voice offering satisfaction in the form of physical perfection. And now Table stood over his friend and could see why. Blakeney lay very still, and very dead, his blood staining the yellow satin cape a horrid red.

One of the strange things about Tantallon is that there is no representation of the Crown there. As far as Law in general goes, there is Dibbs, but as Brother Table suspected, Dibbs was far too busy filing forms to be bothered with a murdered courtier in The Body Shop. It seemed that the only person interested in Blakeney's death was Table himself.

He located a dusty 'Closed for the day' sign and placed it outside the shop to discourage anyone from interrupting, then turned to examine the body. He was dismayed to find that it was still warm. If he hadn't lingered over that second drink, would Blakeney still be alive? The cause of death was immediately apparent. He had been stabbed. Table was struck by the calm repose of the body, the lack of bruises or other marks aside from two clean stab wounds. Brother Table searched under and around the body, then the rest of the room. There was no sign of a knife or dagger. The murderer must have taken it with him, thought Table. Or her. After taking a careful inventory of Blakeney's possessions, Table paid a paperboy to help him move the body to the churchyard, where they buried the remains. Table stopped at the pub for a strong drink, and walked back to Neville, the burden of the mystery heavy upon him during a fitful night's sleep at the monastery.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Table awoke to the sound of Sister Juniper falling down the stairs. She was ordinarily quite graceful, but lately she seemed to have extreme difficulty navigating the wide stone steps of the monastery, particularly when wearing the long traditional robe of the Monks of Antana.

This morning, Table did not hear the familiar footsteps of monks hastening to her aid. He shuffled out of bed and down the stairs to see what kind of shape Juniper was in after today's fall. It was perhaps the first time he had seen her so soon after a tumble. Her hair was askew, her robes were twisted around her ankles, and she was muttering to herself sourly.

"Here now, Juni, what's all this about, then?" said Table. She turned her face to look up at him briefly, then went back to straightening her robes.

"Didn't mean to wake you, Table. I won't be a moment, there, all set!" she said quickly, and dashed down the rest of the stairs, this time clutching her robes in both hands to keep them out of the way of her hurrying feet.

Table leaned against the wall for a moment while he fished a cigar out from a pocket and lit it. "Well," he said to himself, "something is most certainly amiss, and not just in Tantallon."

Picckard was on his second bottle by the time Table arrived. In a rare fit of goodwill, Stubby had agreed to mind the constabulary for the day; Picckard now looked forward to a long dull day of lager, pretzels, and some solitary fishing along the coast. He listened with a sympathetic ear while Table puffed away at his Royal Select and described the events of the day before.

"Hrm, Tantallon, aye," said Picckard. "Some rough sorts movin' in 'round there, I see. Nothin' t'be done, I don't s'pose, but ach, hope it stays down there. Just me 'n Stub 'n the watchman here."

"And yet, Constable, that's three men more than Tantallon can rely on in such matters!" Table waved his cigar around. "Broad daylight, I tell you! Stabbed in broad daylight and nothing to be done? Why, it makes me sick, it does. By Antana, must I hunt the murderer down myself to see any justice around here?"

Picckard chuckled and lifted his bottle, only to find it was empty. Time to be off, he thought, or he'd be listening to this rambling all day and might as well have stayed at work. "Well," he muttered as he stood up and strapped on his pack of fishing gear. "Tell ye what, friend. If ye do, tell me who 'tis and I'll handle the rest."

Brother Table lingered, pondering this remark. Surely vengeance was not a suitable pursuit for a peaceful monk, but would Antana prefer the alternative? One murder, left unchecked, might beget others. He placed his fallen cigar butt in a trash bag and made his way to confession.


End file.
